


Little Tokens

by art_and_other_rhythms



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_and_other_rhythms/pseuds/art_and_other_rhythms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the S3 news of FBI Abbie Mills and the year time-lapse. The power of gift-giving. Ichabbie reunion one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Tokens

Christmas, 2015. 

It was two weeks before Christmas. He and the Lieutenant had spent most of the season together in the time before she left, and even the preposterously inflated prices on virtually every item hadn’t stopped her from doing a little of what she had called “window shopping.”

An idyllic afternoon was passed perusing various shops in Sleepy Hollow and the surrounding area. Whilst she gazed longingly at many an item out of her modest price-range, he found, much to his shame, that he was not above the allure presented by impulse purchasing.

“We’ll make a cheap, consumeristic couch potato of you yet, Crane”, she joked. “Also, Times Square in New York at Christmastime? Magic. Even you wouldn’t say no to that once you’d seen it. One of these days, Crane.”

He picked out a beautiful hand-made journal in a small shop. Stingy though he made be with his praise of modern society (publicly at least), some local artisan had taken the time to craft such beautiful works by hand, quite a rare gift in a world of mass-production. Though when he turned the price tag over, the price sent his quick fingers dropping it quickly back into the display from whence it came.

“Do you know what I could have purchased with such funds back…”

“Crane… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s Christmas. A time for absurd pricing, senseless buying, wildly rich food… in other words, ’tis the season to lighten the hell up and have fun.”

“Still, there is nothing like the feel of a fine leather-bound journal in which to practice your penmanship. In an age where all too often one’s abysmal spelling is corrected at the touch of a button-”

But the sudden gasp Abbie emitted had him stopping his rant short and whirling around, anticipating at all times a concealed danger ready to strike his partner. But gladly for all, the cause of her outburst was a gorgeously tailored and exquisitely crafted  dark grey leather jacket. Miss Mills appeared near girlish in her excitement. Before she was able to stop herself, she flung it off its hanger on the rack and up over her shoulders. It was, of course, a perfect fit.

“I could weep.”

“It’s… exceptionally flattering, Lieutenant.”

But, of course, the magic was instantly crushed by the little inked numbers on the tag attached to the sleeve. He peered at it, noting the size and exorbitant price as she lifted her arm.

He knew that much had happened recently to put a considerable strain on Miss Mills’ resources. His very existence, for one. Her previous vehicle, a charred ruin after the entire unfortunate business with Katrina and Henry he was still actively attempting to move past. So he watched her place it back on the rack, a sad smile on her face, strangely downcast as she told him “There’s a coffee shop next door. I’ll meet you over there in a moment.”

... 

Once it became clear that Abbie would need to start making the trip to Quantico a few days before Christmas in order to begin training early the following week, Ichabod could barely believe the suffocating disappointment and panic at her departure. Well.. this was a falsehood. Of course he could believe the disappointment. He could no sooner deny his great need for her nearness than he could deny his own body air to breathe, water to drink, or food to sustain it.

So when he finds the too-expensive journal later hidden in his desk in the cabin, with the words “Merry Christmas Crane” written on a card on top, the weight of his unworthiness, his guilt, and his voracious longing buffeted against him like waves on the shore. It occurred to him that the consumeristic nature of Christmas might not be an evil entirely - he pondered the power material things, little tokens, could hold in the expression of love.

Luckily for him, it wasn’t to be the last opportunity he would get.

\- - - - - 

Present Day

The fact that her return from the FBI and her birthday coincided was a decidedly irritating turn of events. Sure, she enjoyed being fawned over as much as the next person, and yes, a little appreciation goes a hell of a long way. Yet for all she says she enjoys large parties, bright lights and loud voices and all eyes on her made her anxious beneath her impenetrably calm exterior.

Jenny, in a moment of mercy, had tipped her off ahead of time of the precinct’s like “surprise return/birthday party” bash they were holding that night, so as to brace herself for the inevitable questions and wretched toss into the spotlight.  


She’d missed Jenny like hell. And hell, had she missed Crane. She knows she can count on her baby sister to be there to share her success - she wonders what state she’d find Crane in.

She’d left him in a good place, as far as she could tell, and in all honesty, the thought of sharing this night with him makes her stomach contents shift like churning butter. In a good way, of course. She’d missed him terribly.

That didn’t quite cut it though, did it? “Miss him terribly.” Turns out, finally pressing play on her own ambitions hadn’t quelled the unease felt by being apart from her fellow Witness, her partner, her best friend in the world.

So imagine her shock, when she walks through the door to the precinct to the bellowing screech of “Surprise” and “Happy Birthday”, finding him not there. As cool as she always plays it, to find him flat out not there to celebrate her accomplishments on her birthday was both insulting and deeply disconcerting.

And so she hugs Jenny, whispers a promise to catch up on her goings-on, inputs Irving’s new number to send him a good luck text at his new job, makes polite chit-chat and conversation and puts on a smile and lasts an admirably long time before finally dropping in, like it was nothing, “So, where’s that Crane guy I used to see a lot of?”

Jenny pushes to the fore. She seems genuinely downtrodden, which squashes Abbie’s slim hope that Jenny was planning a surprise with Crane after all. “He’s in NYC right now. He’s at some sort of conference I suppose? He got a professor gig, so… yeah”, she finishes awkwardly. “He sends his regards and, quote, ‘is dismayed to be unable to attend.”

Abbie huffs a short chuckle, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She feels a cocktail of surprise, pride and sorrow take root in her heart. So Crane was standing on his own two feet these days? She is so beyond proud of him, even as she is annoyed that she was not there to witness him experiencing NYC for the first time, and is still so hurt and angry that it isn’t here for her homecoming.

The party continues another half hour or some before some officer who’s name she forgets, who had been new when she left, pipes in, as if cued in, “you’ll lose some of your edge back in this one-horse town, Mills. It’s not half as exciting here as it is at Quantico.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. I can count on plenty for her to do right here in Sleepy Hollow.”

It’s like being sucker punched in the gut. She whips around so fast she’ll have a pain in her neck for weeks, but who cares because he’s standing there, already finishing the question before it formulates in her mind.

“I got permission to leave early. I hope I’m not too terribly late. I wouldn’t miss your birthday homecoming for the world.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, why is this reunion so public? She lurches forward, and he lurches forward, and they both lurch a few times unsure of how grandiose and dramatic they want to make this in front of the whole precinct, and then Abbie throws all of her cares out of the damn window and launches herself off the ground into his arms for a hug. He catches her and clasps his hands firmly around her, chuckling low in her ear. The rest of the party-goers, for their part, are miraculously graceful - a few clap awkwardly, most smile, some consider wolf-whistling until Jenny quells them with a look that would unnerve the devil himself. Jenny, sporting the biggest shit-eating grin known to man, saunters over just as the intense bubble of intimacy the Witnesses had created allows for a few more participants.

“Guess the man came through after all. 'Dismayed to not attend', my ass. You planned this the whole time, I bet.”

Crane puts Abbie down, and then bows to his partner.

“Agent Mi-“

“I’m going to stop you right there,” she laughs. “You better not be thinking about dropping “Lieutenant”.  


\- - - - -

“I like your boyband hair, Crane. Are all your students swooning over you? Congrats on that, by the way,” she says.

“I resent that entirely even if I have no idea what that is,” he huffs, though with a smile on his face. “But I’m glad you approve of my employment choices.”

They’re back at the cabin. They’ve chatted some over coffee, had some leftover cake from the party, and even though time and distance has made conversation a little stilted, she has every confidence they will get right back to where they were. Well, better than before, with any luck. Their last little apocalyptic adventure hadn’t been the best of times, physically or emotionally.

Crane seemed changed. Other than physically, of course, though that was…. nice. He looks healthy, clean, well-kept, fresh and alert. He looks like a man. She stops eye-balling him before she is caught. But it’s the vibe he’s giving off. What is it? She tries to put her finger on it. Something about him exudes a greater confidence, a greater warmth, a greater intensity…

“We have so very much to talk about still, Lieutenant, though your persistent yawning leaves me worried you should stay the night. I’ll take the sofa…”

“No, it’s all good, Crane. I’m beat, but I’d prefer to make it back to my own old bed for my first night back, you know?”

“Very well. Then I’ll see you tomorrow Lieutenant.”

She’s almost out the door when she can’t help remarking: “You’ve changed, somehow. It’s not a bad change, it’s just… huh.”

Apparently this was the right thing to say, since the twinkle in his eye he saves only for when he looks at her (she pretends not to notice) gleams brightly, he grins a wide cocky grin, and then he leans way, way down and whispers in her ear, smooth as butter: “I do hope it’s not the only change we’re due for, Lieutenant.”

Whoa, where the hell did Captain Crane come from? And just like that, in a move as bold as brass and a total departure from the unsure, modest Crane of the past, he’s gained the upper hand, and how on earth is she supposed to get things back to the way they were? If that’s even what she wants, that is.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. Take this with you.” He produces from his bedroom a nondescript large brown paper bag with handles. “Happy birthday, Abbie.”

Still too dumbstruck to speak, Abbie gives him what she hopes is an unaffected smile and heads out the door.

In the car, she can’t contain her curiosity anymore. She opens the bag, closes her fist around material, pulls her hand out and honest to God it’s the damn leather jacket from all those months ago. The picturesque afternoon floods back to her and she slips her own jacket off, pulls the new one on, and with a contented smile at a perfect birthday and homecoming, she pulls out of the cabin driveway.

**Author's Note:**

> So lovely people have brought to my attention Abbie's birthday from her "Tempus Fugit" documents. Welp. Whatever, what is fanfic for if not throwing dates and times and canon to the wind?


End file.
